She picked up her nightie, pulled it on over her head, letting the covers go only when she was concealed. Didn’t matter. He’d seen her and the image was burned into his mind. He almost groaned aloud when she stepped into the panties and pulled them up.
Then she tossed him his briefs, because he was sitting there on the bed with a pillow over his privates. “Good,” she said.
“Good what? That I’m not going to be able to sleep?”
“Exactly. I won’t sleep, either. Between almost jumping your bones and the damn ghost, I’ll be lucky if I can sleep again for a week.”
“You sound like you have a plan—something we can do instead.”
She nodded, padding across the room and taking the book she’d had in her car earlier from the fireplace mantel. He used the opportunity to pull on his underwear and prop the pillow behind his head. She said, “We can read. I already got started, but nothing that really explains any of this has shown up so far.”
She handed him the book. He looked at it and nodded.
“There’s an entire chapter on this house, in fact.” She climbed back into the bed beside him. “I think I might have a case against the real estate agency. Do you?”
“Failure to disclose ghosts. Yeah, it’s probably in the law books, right in the same section where they have to disclose termites and leaky roofs.”
She smiled again. “Go on, open to the chapter. We may as well read it together, though I’m not altogether sure I want to know any more than I already do.”
He nodded, flipped to the chapter that opened with a photo of her house and started reading.
BY THE TIME THEY FINISHED the chapter it was nearly dawn. The “ghost” or whatever was raising hell in Kiley’s new home had been quiet for the rest of the night, and she was starved.
She closed the cover. “Well, that was helpful.”
“Not.”
She stretched and got to her feet. “Hungry?”
“Don’t tell me you’re offering to cook me breakfast?”
“What are you, insane? You’re taking me to IHOP.”
He glanced at his watch. “They won’t be open for an hour and a half.”
She pouted. “Oh, hell. Well, I can scramble an egg, but the whites might be runny. I never seem to get them quite—”
“How about if I make breakfast?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, I can cook. Just don’t let it get around.” He got up, pulled on his jeans.
She led the way to the kitchen, showed him where things were, put on a pot of coffee, then sat at the table and watched him work. He knew his way around a kitchen, whisking eggs in a large bowl, adding milk, cinnamon, nutmeg, soaking slices of bread in the concoction, and dropping them onto a sizzling griddle.
“Wow,” she said.
“I’m a man of many talents.” He glanced at her. “As you would have found out last night, had we not been so rudely interrupted.”
She let herself grin back. This was something new, this flirting going on between them. She wasn’t sure how to react to it. Was this going to be the new nature of their relationship, now that she’d vowed to stop trying to discredit him and put him out of business? How odd it would be not to be his worst nightmare. She wasn’t sure how to deal with it, or whether she even liked it. She’d enjoyed tormenting him, hounding him.
So she decided to change the subject. “Let’s nutshell this, shall we?”
“Sure.” He expertly flipped the French toast.
“What do we know about this house that we didn’t know before?” she asked.
“Well, the last couple who lived here moved out within six months, but refused to cite a reason or be interviewed by the book’s author,” Jack said.
“The couple before that claimed that the place was haunted. Talked about lights and things going on and off, items being moved around, footsteps in the middle of the night.”
“Nothing as drastic as what’s been happening to you, though.”
She nodded. “Same as the family who lived here before them. They actually liked the ghost, said it watched out for them. I wonder why. I mean, the ghost has never seemed hostile to anyone else—”
“That we know of,” he said.
She nodded. “But prior to that, there was nothing—not until the suicide.”
“Yeah. You know, I had no idea Phil Miller had ever lived in this house, much less that his first wife had committed suicide.”
“You mean you know him?”
He nodded. “He’s a music teacher in a neighboring school district. Must be close to retirement age by now. But I’ve seen him around.”
“He comes into your shop? Seems interested in the spiritual?”
“Nah. We eat in the same diner a lot.”
“Oh.” She was disappointed. For a moment there, she thought she might be onto something. Then she brightened again. “Still, it was right after her death that the haunting began. Do you think it’s Sharon Miller, Jack? Do you think she’s the ghost?”
He shrugged. “Need a plate, here.”
She hopped up, got two plates from the cupboard and handed him one. He stacked three slices of the toast onto it, handed it back to her and threw in three more. “Go ahead and start without me.”
She set her plate on the table, went to the fridge for margarine, maple syrup and got out a bottle of orange juice while she was at it. Then she got silverware and glasses for them, and when that was done, poured two mugs full of coffee and set the creamer and sugar on the table.
“There.”
By then he was flipping his three slices onto his plate and joining her. He sat down. She said, “So where should we begin?”
“Well, you can tell me what your life was like before you came to Burnt Hills,” he said.
She looked up quickly. “I meant with the ghost. Can you just exorcise this thing, or do you need to know more about it, first?”
He seemed to be taking his time, thinking it over while adding syrup to his toast, cream to his coffee. “Well,” he said at length. “The more information we have, the more effective the exorcism will be.”
“That’s what I figured. So what’s the plan?”
“Right now, eating breakfast. And talking. Where are you from, Kiley?”
She sighed. “You really wanna know?”
“Yeah. I know, it seems odd to me, too.”
She shrugged, took a bite and moaned in ecstasy. When she’d swallowed, she said, “This is incredible.”
“I know.”
She licked her lips. “I was a spoiled little rich girl from Richmond, Virginia. Inherited my parents’ entire fortune. Fell for a con man who married me, took me for every red cent, and then left me high and dry.”
She felt his eyes on her, realized he’d stopped eating. Slowly she looked up at him.
“That’s why you’re so down on people you perceive to be hucksters?”
She nodded. “It’s why I stopped believing anything I couldn’t find proof of.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe my own bitterness has warped my vision.”
“Maybe.” He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes anymore, and he dug back into his breakfast as if it were the most important thing he would do all day.
When she finished and was sipping her coffee, she leaned back in her chair. “God, I feel like patting my belly. That was delicious.”
“Glad I managed to satisfy at least one of your physical cravings.”
She smirked at him. “Oh, I don’t think you’d have had any trouble with the other.”
“No?”
She didn’t answer. Since when did she stroke this man’s ego? Not that that’s what she was doing. He’d been good. God, it would have been mind-blowing. But it didn’t pay to think about that now. It hadn’t happened. It wasn’t going to.
“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” she said.
“About what?”
“About the ghost. I think we should contact the last couple
who lived here.”
“The ones who wouldn’t talk to the author?”
She nodded. “They might be more willing to talk to me. I mean, I’m living here, after all.”
“You’re also a journalist who enjoys exposing people as frauds. They might be suspicious of you.”
“Hmm, you have a point. Okay, so you’ll have to help me talk to them. Meanwhile, we’ll do a little investigative digging into Mr. Miller. See if we can find out anything more about his wife’s death.”
“Like what?”
“Like how she killed herself, and why. And what she might want from me.” She licked her lips. “Maybe you could consult the Ouija board or whatever the hell you use, see if you can get any answers from her directly.”
“Naturally. That was going to be my first move.”
She nodded, swallowed more coffee. Outside the sun was coming up, its orange-yellow rays beaming in through the kitchen windows. “I suppose I should take a shower.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I should wash up and shave, myself. You want me to stand in the bathroom while you shower?”
She licked her lips. That would be a bad idea. Very bad. She would be all too tempted to reach out and yank him into the water with her. “I think I’ll be okay, now that it’s light outside. So long as I use the downstairs bathroom.”
He lifted his chin, cleared his throat. “Tell you what, I’ll go use the upstairs one. Just to see what happens.”
“You’re a better man than I am,” she told him. He was either very brave or very foolish, she wasn’t sure which. “Let’s both leave the doors open, okay?”
“Deal.”
Gathering her nerve, she cleared the table and tossed the dishes into the dishwasher, just as a delaying tactic. Then she went to her bathroom, listening to Jack’s footsteps on the stairs as he went to his.
It wasn’t freezing cold. That was a good sign. The sun was beaming in through the window, higher now than before. The lights were working. She opened the cabinet, taking out her body wash, bath oil, shampoo, conditioner, loofah. Then, with all those items loaded in her arms, she turned to face the tub.
And then she dropped everything on the floor and screamed at the top of her lungs.
The tub was full to the brim, water sloshing over the top onto the floor. And lying there, beneath the clear, warm water, was a woman. Her blond hair floated like a nest of yellow snakes around her head. Her mouth was slightly agape. And her eyes were wide open, focused on Kiley’s, and pleading.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE SOUND OF HER SCREAM split his mind wide open and let a slew of nightmarish images flow in, each more horrific than the one before. Even though he was running before the sound died, he couldn’t seem to get to her fast enough.
And then he did.
She was backed into the farthest corner of the downstairs bathroom, with one hand fisted near her mouth and the other one pointing, trembling, at the tub.
He looked at the bathtub, half afraid to. But there was nothing there.
“Kiley?” He moved closer to her. “What, what is it?”
When he stood right in front of her, blocking her view of the tub, her glazed eyes focused on him. “It was there. Jack, it was there, in the tub, she was—”
“Wait, wait, hold up a sec.” The tempo, pitch and decibel levels of her voice had been rising steadily, and he sensed she was close to panic, so he closed his hands on her shoulders, intending to lead her out of the bathroom, into something more nearly resembling safe ground. As soon as he touched her, she fell into his arms, sliding her arms around his back, burying her face in his chest and holding on so tight he thought she might crack his ribs.
He buried a hand in her hair, snapped the other around her waist and tried to keep holding her that way while maneuvering them both out of the bathroom. He took her all the way through the house, and outside, to her car—she in her nightgown, and he in his jeans. He paused only long enough to snag her key ring from the hook by the door.
“Jack, what are we…?”
“Screw this. You need to get the hell out of that house. For now, just for now.”
“I haven’t even showered.”
“You can shower at my place.”
“But my clothes—”
“I’ll come back and get you some.”
“Alone?”
“Not on your life.” He put her in her car, shut the door, went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. Only when they were heading down the road did he turn to face her, to ask her, “What did you see in the bathtub, Kiley?”
She licked her lips, sat a little straighter in the seat. “I think I know how Mrs. Miller killed herself,” she said softly.
He lifted his brows. “How?”
“Drowning. In the bathtub, I think.”
“And you think this because?” He was almost afraid to ask.
“Because I saw her. That tub was full of water. Overflowing, even, and she was there, lying there on the bottom. Her eyes were open and she was looking right at me.”
The last few words came out in a whisper. He ached for her, literally felt pangs in his belly for her pain.
She sent him a searching look. “She was there. She was really there.”
“I believe you.”
“She was young, beautiful, when she died. Long honey-blond hair. Green eyes. She could’ve been a model.”
He nodded. “We’re here,” he said, pulling her car into his driveway. He lived in a modest-size log home, one story with a loft. Just big enough for him. He liked it, maybe more now than ever. No history, no ghosts. Not that he believed in the damn things, anyway. He stopped the car. The look of relief on Kiley’s face was something to see. He got out, went to open her door for her, but she beat him to it.
He led her inside, unlocking the place, holding the door. “I’d show you around, but it would be a short trip. Kitchen’s in there. Bedroom’s up in the loft. Bathroom’s through there, and there’s a den in back.
“And this is the living room.”
He nodded. “Go on, go take your shower. And then sack out in my bed for a while. You’re dead on your feet.”
“I should go in to work.”
“Call ’em. Phone’s in the kitchen.”
“Okay.Yeah. Okay, I can rest here.” She looked around, sighed. “This is a nice place, Jack. It feels good here.”
“And not a ghost in sight,” he said.
She smiled. “Thanks for this.”
He nodded. “I need to go to the shop, see Chris, and then I’ll head back to your place and pick you up a few things. Okay?”
“Don’t go there alone, Jack.”
“I won’t. But I will bring you back some clothes and stuff. I’ll be a couple of hours. No more. And if you need me, my cell phone number is programmed into the phone. Number nine.”
She nodded. “I really do owe you for all of this.”
He sent her an evil smile. “And I fully intend to collect, Brigham. So don’t fret about it too much.”
CHRIS WAS ALREADY TURNING the Closed sign around to the Open side when Jack walked up to the door of the shop. The kid stepped aside to let him in, but before Jack could so much as say “good morning” the questions were pouring out.
“So? What happened last night? You didn’t go home. I know, ’cause I called six times. Did you spend the night with her? Did anything happen? I thought you hated each other. What’s going on, Jack?”
Jack held up two hands and hurried through the shop toward the section in the back that was devoted entirely to books. Then he stood there, perusing the rack.
“Jack?” Chris asked. “C’mon, aren’t you going to tell me anything?”
Sighing, Jack looked down at the kid. “It’s not good, I’ll tell you that.”
“No? Not even…?”
“No, not even. And don’t ask again, kid. That’s none of your business. Besides, it has nothing to do with whatever the hell is haunting Kiley Brigham’s house
.”
Chris licked his lips. “I, uh—thought you didn’t believe in ghosts, Jack.”
“Didn’t. Not until last night.”
Chris widened his eyes. “You saw it?”
He shook his head. “Lights flashing, drawers flying around the bedroom, doors slamming.”
Chris licked his lips. “So you were in her bedroom.”
He sent the kid a glare. “Part of the job, kid.”
“Job?” Then Chris went pale. “You don’t mean—”
“The lady has hired me to get rid of her ghost.”
“B-but…you—”
“Believe me, I know. So now I’m in one hell of a predicament. I either admit to her that I’m a fake, or I fake my way through this, fail, and then she’ll know I’m a fake, anyway.” He lowered his head. “And she’s been burned by a fraud like me before, Chris. Hell, when she finds out the truth—” He made himself stop there, before he gave away more than he wanted to. Not that he had a clue what he’d be giving away. He was confused as hell right now.
Chris shrugged. “One way to solve the whole mess,” he said. “You just have to get rid of the ghost for her.”
“Oh, come on, kid.”
“It’s not like you haven’t done it before. You’ve cleared a dozen houses right in Burnt Hills alone.”
“That wasn’t real and you know it. I read a few books, went through the motions and eased the minds of some extremely nervous people with vivid imaginations.”
“You helped them. None of them had any visitations after you finished.”
“None of them had any visitations before I started.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
Jack didn’t reply.
“And what about all the readings, Jack? The advice you give these people, the way it helps them?”
“It’s not hard to give people good advice.”
“As good as yours, and all the time? Jack, did you ever stop to think that maybe the reason Kiley Brigham can’t prove you’re a fraud is because you aren’t?”
He rolled his eyes.
“You knew that client was a fake the other day. You knew Ms. Brigham was in the shop. Hell, I’ll bet you knew there was something in her house the second you walked through the door, if not sooner.”
Night's Edge Page 16